Family
by Pokemon67
Summary: Summary: Jocelyn Fairchild left after the Uprising, leaving her dead son and fanatic husband in the past. She is alone with her daughter, determined to raise her in safety. But what will she say when she is told Jonathon Christopher is alive? Will she be wiling to compromise Clary and her own safety for a child with demon blood?
1. Chapter 1

**Me: Wrote this while bored. Kinda of shocked at myself for how obsesed I am with the idea of Jonathon and Clary growing up as siblings (also, can I just say, the apartment scenes in City Of Lost Souls? Oh my gosh). Anyways, hope you like.**

**Disclaimer: Own NOTHING!**

_Pokemon67 is sorry for any grammar mistakes._

…

Jocelyn Fray wasn't prepared to deal with whatever salesperson was at her door. She hadn't had a goodnight's sleep in weeks, her paintings hadn't sold, she was out of coffee, and her two year old was teething, which meant anything in reach was fair game to chew. She didn't have the time or energy to deal with people.

She wrapped her cardigan around her tightly, hopefully hiding the fact she was still in her pajamas. She paused on her way to the door to swipe a hairpin out of Clary's hands (which the toddler took great offense to, crying in outrage), before undoing the latch on the door.

Just as she was about to speak with one of the prepared speeches (no, I don't want a new vacuum; Sorry, I can't sign your petition to save the earth, I hate this place) when the person at the door cut her off. ''Jocelyn?''

It took Jocelyn's sleep deprived brain a while to process the person in front of her, plus more time for the unlikeliness of seeing this woman. ''Madeline?''

Madeline sighed in relief. ''We need to talk.''

They sat in the living room, Madeline sitting on the chair across the couch, on which Jocelyn sat. She pulled Clary on her lap, giving her cereal to entertain herself. She kept a protective arm around her.

Madeline looked at Clary in amusement. ''I did suspect as much,'' she whispered. She suddenly looked very unsure of herself. ''Jocelyn, Valentine is dead.''

''So the Clave says.''

''No, for real this time. His body was found. He was pretending to be Michael Wayland in the country.''

Jocelyn couldn't process this. ''Michael is dead?'' _Valentine is dead?_

Madeline nodded. ''That is who it must have been back in the uprising, whose bones we found.''

''But his son?''

Madeline's gaze went to Clary. ''Jocelyn, Michael and his son died. But your son is alive.''

Silence.

Madeline went on. ''Valentine killed Wayland and his son and left their bodies at your house before burning it down. He then took Jonathon and another boy and went to live and hide in Wayland Manor.''

Jocelyn's mind was spinning. _Jonathon_. ''A-another boy...?''

''Celine's son.''

Céline. 19 and killed herself. _No, Valentine got to her first..._

Jocelyn shook her head. ''I don't understand- I'm not apart of the Shadowhunter world-''

''Your son is alive!'' Madeline hissed.

''I don't believe you!'' Jocelyn shouted. Clary frowned and looked up at her mother. Jonathon, his copycat smile, his cold, black eyes...

''It's true,'' Madeline assured her. ''The Clave are sending the other boy to the Lightwoods-they've offered to take him in. But Jonathon and his situation...'' she shook her head. ''They will find out Jocelyn. They will find out what Valentine did to him and they will kill him.''

A cold feeling settled in Jocelyn's chest. She was very aware of Clary sitting on her lap, sucking on her cardigan sleeve. This was everything she had tried to keep her from. ''What do you want me to do?''

Madeline looked at the disorganized house. ''I can get him to you.''

The cold feeling was like an icicle in her chest. It stabbed her. ''_What_?''

''I can give you your son back. If you want him,'' she added.

_Do I want him?_

Jocelyn though of Jonathon Christopher. She remembered him sitting in her lap as she read to him, asking questions about the characters, trying to understand their emotions. She remembered him trying to mimic Alec Lightwood's expressions, to be human like him. She remembered his cold hugs, desperately trying to behave like his playmate so she would behave like his mother, a warm, loving mother. She remembered the burnt house, the remains of her parents, what she thought were the remains of her son. She remembered crying, sobbing, cursing the day she met Valentine. She thought of the box under her bed, her pathetic shrine to the boy that could have been.

The boy that was alive.

Those cold eyes...

_I don't want him._

The thought was so horrible and yet so true. She hated herself. She hated that she didn't want that creature anywhere near her daughter, his sister. Clary was everything a human baby should be. She was loud, stubborn, and so full of life. Her emotions were not forced, nor was she confused by other people's feelings. She didn't want a demon near her.

_He's my son_.

That was the only reason she looked Madeline in the eye and responded. The only thing that made Valentine better than her was that he, hater of all things Downworlder, never denied his son love, not while she was there. Jocelyn realized that this reasoning made her horrible. Showed just how cruel she was. But the facts remained.

She hugged Clary close to her. ''When and where?''

…

Madam Dorothea had agreed to watch Clary. She was the only other person Jocelyn knew that knew of the Shadow World, the only one who would have every tool at her disposal should anything go wrong. The woman seemed to take great delight in Clary, and Clary in her, especial the painted wooden cards Jocelyn had made for Dorothea, which of course went straight into her mouth.

''You might want to move this?'' Jocelyn suggested, taking the wood out of her daughter's mouth. She frowned at the picture of the cup. ''Of course, you would pick that one,'' she mumbled. Clary clapped in delight at her mother's distain.

Now, Jocelyn was sitting outside an apartment building, the cold wind whipping through her thin jacket. _Suffer_, she thought to herself. _You deserve it._

It had been a week since Madeline came, since Jocelyn answered. She had been dreading it every since. She felt awful for feeling the way she did, awful that she was afraid of her own son, but determined to never let him know. Never let him see how afraid she really was.

_Yeah, cause I'm such a great actor._

''Excited for a reunion?''

Jocelyn glanced behind her. Magnus Bane leaned against the railing, letting the door behind him swing shut. He was wearing a plain suit- plain except for the fact that it was covered in purple glitter. God, how could anyone put up with glitter? Jocelyn once did a painting for a commission with glitter and had spent a month vacuuming and picking it out of Clary's hair. She was still finding it around the house.

She turned away from him. ''You know the situation, Bane.''

''Indeed.'' Magnus sat next to her, stretching out his long legs. ''Which is why I ask: excited?''

''Why are you involved again?''

Magnus scoffed. ''Not much happened in this city that I don't know about. It helps to have the High Warlock on your side, dearest.''

Before Jocelyn could retort, a portal emerged in front of them. She was annoyed to see Magnus grin. ''Ah. Moment of truth.''

Madeline emerged from the portal. Another man Jocelyn didn't know came with her, and in between them was a boy who looked about four. _No, he just turned six._

Jonathon Christopher looked small. Perhaps it was because of his practically white hair, or the fragile look of his features. Despite his demon blood, he looked like an angel.

His black eyes fell on her, and for a moment Jocelyn was looking at Valentine.

She bit her cheek in punishment. She would not think that way.

She got to her feet, forcing herself to look at the little boy in front of her. _Her_ little boy.

''Jonathon,'' she said.

He looked at her. Jocelyn noticed the set line of his mouth. He was holding a bag in front of him, letting one finger spin the bracelet on his wrist. Madeline nudged him forward and he walked in front of Jocelyn.

She bent down to his level. She felt a tug in her heart, the part that knew that this boy was her's. The part that, no matter how small, loved him.

''Hey,'' she managed.

He looked her straight in the eye. She wondered how demon memory worked. If he would remember the first time she held him, how she had barley managed to repress a scream. ''Mommy?''

That voice. That voice so filled with complete innocence. _This could work. This will be okay_. She nodded. ''Yeah.''

...

Clary was fascinated with her brother.

Since arriving home, she had toddled over to where Jonathon had sat on the couch and tried to pull his hair, lick the mark on his hand, or eat his jewelry.

''Clary,'' Jocelyn scolded for the tenth time. Jonathon however, didn't seem to mind.

''I have a sister! I didn't know! Oh, wow! She's so tiny!''

It was the most he'd said since they walked back from Magnus's. He let Clary trace his mark on his right hand, touching her own red curls that were such a stark contrast from his own white locks.

Jocelyn should have found this cute, reassuring. Instead she remembered when Maryse had her little daughter, and Jonathon declared how tiny she was, how roughly he had grabbed her hand...

_He was two. Shut up. _

Two and talking. His age wasn't the problem. His lack of understand other people had been.

Jocelyn shook such thoughts out of her head and went on with her evening.

She bathed Clary and got her done for bed, Jonathon watching his little sister with intense interest. Then, the stubborn toddler took her bottle of milk and dragged Jonathon over to sit back in the couch, clearly deciding he was going to be her teddy bear tonight.

Part of Jocelyn wanted to tear her daughter away from him, keep her perfect daughter from being tainted by Jonathan's blood. But that wasn't going to work. She was raising them both. She couldn't think that way.

Clary was soon asleep. She had made Jonathon flip though her picture books with her, which he tried to read to her, but Clary already memorized them and simply wanted to look at the pictures. Jonathon giggled every time she turned the page prematurely.

Jocelyn sat on the chair across from the children. The silence was only broken by Clary's contented sighing. Jocelyn cleared her throat. ''You can read already?''

He nodded. '"Father taught me.'' He turned the book he held over in his hands. ''I like this book.''

Jocelyn glanced at the book in his hands. She didn't recognize it as one of her, and then she noticed Jonathons open bag at his feet. Clearly Clary had helped herself to investigating its contents. Jonathon met her gaze. ''Do you remember it?''

Jocelyn was about to say she didn't, when she remembered.

''That's the one I would read to you, every night before you went to bed.'' When he nodded, Jocelyn cursed herself. What kind of mother forgets her dead son's favorite book?

She took a deep breath. ''Jonathon-''

''Why did you leave?'' The question came out quickly, as if he himself hadn't prepared to ask it. ''Father said you didn't love me. Didn't want me because-''

_He knows. Of course Valentine would've told him._

Jocelyn felt all the silence reprimands she had given herself over the week in her heart. She thought she could battle this silently. But he was right: better to have all the cards on the table. ''I wasn't prepared.''

Jonathon breathed deeply. ''What does that mean?''

''You- being what you are- took me by surprise,'' she said as honestly as she could. The wrongness of speaking this way to a six year old rose up in her chest. But he wasn't an ordinary six year old. He knew, and she had to speak the truth.

''I thought parents are supposed to love no matter what,'' he said in confusion. Absolutes. The way he spoke was always in absolutes. He couldn't make room for anything else.

_Shut up!_ She shouted at herself. _He is six!_

''You're right. I was wrong. Besides-'' she stammered. ''Valentine made me think- I thought that you-''

''Were dead,'' he answered flatly. ''But even if you knew, you still would have left.''

She looked up in shock. ''No!''

Jonathon sat up so fast Clary fell back harshly against the pillows. He held up his wrist, his silver bracelet gleaming. ''It shows emotions. Father said I'm bad at it and gave me it. It glowed when you saw me. You weren't happy. You were scared.''

Jocelyn could only stare. She could see him, Valentine, giving him a tool while insulting him for needing it. Shame at herself, at him, burned inside her.

She got up and approached him, kneeling in front of the couch. '' I was scared,'' she admitted. ''I am scared. Because you are different, Jonathon. And I worry that I am going to do stuff wrong. But I promise you,'' she grabbed his hand, wrapping his cold fingers around her warm ones. ''I promise that I want you. That I love you.''

Jonathon looked in her face before glancing at his bracelet. It glowed blue. Just as she was wondering if that meant she was lying, Jonathon threw his arms around her.

Jocelyn pushed down all her worries. All her fears and disgust and let herself hold her son. Maybe he was cold, but she and Clary were warm. And they would be his family.

…

''I don't understand.''

Jocelyn sighed inwardly. She watched Clary chase Chairman Meow's tail as Magnus set up for his spell. She turned toward her son, who was sitting next to her on a bench in Magnus's apartment. ''Magnus will block her Sight.''

''I know that,'' Jonathon said, offended. ''What I don't understand is why.''

Jocelyn watched as Clary ran around the dinning table, not bothering to duck. She was about to grab her daughter, when Magnus beat her to it. ''So she can't see the Shadow World.''

''And the Shadow World can't see her.'' Jocelyn could see him shake his head as she continued to watch Magnus prepare for the spell, now with Clary on his hip. ''Why?''

''Jonathon...''

''We could be Shadowhunters! It's in our blood! Why would you want-''

''Valentine still has followers,'' she said sharply. More sharply than she intended. His face fell at her angry tone. She tried to correct it. ''I don't know what they know. They think you and I are dead. This will protect Clary.''

That last sentence made Jonathon go quiet. Protecting Clary was probably the one thing Jocelyn and him agreed on without question, though perhaps their idea of methods differed.

Magnus turned to them. ''Ready.''

The got up and came over. Jocelyn took Clary from the warlock, who had given the little redhead what appeared to be an old wand to suck on. ''Alright, Jocelyn, stand over there...''

**Me: I was going to leave out the scene with Magus to make it read as more of a one-shot, but I just didn't want to deprive you of the mental image of Magnus with two-year old Clary on his hip. This might have more added to it, might not. We shall see.**

**I hope you enjoyed! If you can, please leave a review (or send me glitter, whatever works).**

**Happy Writing! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Me: Thank you to all who reviewed! I am currently working on another Mortal Instrument story, but every now and then a scene like this pops into my head. I hope to write more to this, but we shall see where the Muse takes me.**

**And to the guest reviewer who asked if this will be incest- no. This is all about Clary and Jonathon growing up as siblings. **

**Thanks again!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

''This is outrageous!''

Jocelyn rolled her eyes as her seven year old marched into the kitchen, waving a piece of paper in the air.

''How dare they!'' Jonathon shouted. He read from the paper, the back of which was stamped with St. Xavier. '' '...After meeting with your son, the staff of the school believe he is best placed into the Special Education Classroom. We look forward to the coming semester.' '' Jonathon stared at his mother in amazement. ''How dare they!'' He exclaimed again.

Jocelyn stirred her coffee in boredom. ''What is the problem, Jonathon?''

''The problem,'' he began, annunciating clearly, ''Is this mundane culture of shaming those who are neuodivergent.'' He slapped the paper for emphasis. ''How dare they draw parallels between disabled children and having demon blood. This is exactly what activists are trying to fight!'' He paused. ''Though I suppose I should give them props for calling it in my case.''

''Jonathon.'' Jocelyn tried her best to be patient. ''The school sent that because that is their first reaction to any kid who is different from the norm. Don't worry, you are not going to be put into the Special Ed. classroom.''

Jonathon gestured helplessly. ''There it is again! That attitude! There should be no shame involved here!''

''Who said anything about shame?'' Jocelyn shook her head. ''Jonathon, you have to stop this.''

''Stop what?'' He answered quickly. He cocked his head to the side, putting the best use to his angelic features.

''It has been one complaint after another every since we broached the topic of school,'' Jocelyn said bitterly. ''Pretending to care about issues is not going to make me not send you.''

''Pretending to care?'' Jonathon was offended. ''These are important problems-''

''And you're using them as excuses.''

Jonathon shook his head. ''Just because I don't want any part of such _ableist_ establishments-''

''St. Xavier's is known for its excellent programs!'' Jocelyn exclaimed, before chiding herself for once again getting sucked into her son's arguments. She sighed. ''Jonathon, you are going to school and that is final.''

She sat at the table, drinking her now less than hot cup of coffee. A few seconds of silence ticked by before Jonathon came up to stand right next to her. ''So I've looked more into the New York Homeschool Laws...''

''Oh my god.'' Jocelyn banged her head against the table.

''Turns out there's not as much paper work as I initially thought,'' Jonathon went on. ''Even less if we start right off the bat. The process of pulling a child out of school to homeschool is a lot harder, let me tell you-''

Jocelyn held up a weary hand. ''Jonathon, for the love of-''

''But if you homeschool me than I can focus on becoming a Shadowhunter,'' Jonathon concluded, lowering his voice on the last word.

And there is was again. The conversation that Jocelyn and Jonathon had been having since last September. ''No.''

''But why?''

''Because I can't put 'knife throwing' as one of your subjects.''

Jonathon looked puzzled. ''Of course not. I know that already.''

Jocelyn decided to let that go for the moment. ''Jonathon, I love you. But for the last freakin' time: No.''

Jonathon stared at his mother for a moment. ''Fine,'' he relented in a tone that suggested otherwise. He backed out of the kitchen. ''But I am still going to take action on the whole demon blood parallel.''

''What?'' But Jonathon had already run into the other room.

Jocelyn drank the rest of her coffee in blessed silence. It had been a year since Jonathon had re-entered her life, a year filled with many conversations like the one they just had. He spoke with a vocabulary and style that nobody expected of a seven year old, especially one who looked not much more than five.

Finished with her coffee, Jocelyn excited the kitchen and was surprised to pass her three year old, whom she didn't know was up yet, sitting on the couch with a phone book. ''Clary, what...what are you doing?''

Clary smiled, her baby teeth looking adorably crooked. ''Jonathon said we- we are going to stop- to stop dis-'' she scrunched up her face in determination. ''Dis- discrim...''

''Discrimination?'' Jocelyn guessed, raising an eyebrow. Clary nodded happily. ''Huh.'' She reached over the couch and closed the phone book. ''I'll take that, thank you, little miss.''

Jocelyn went into the hallway, pausing at the room her two kids shared. Jonathon was on the floor, scribbling a no doubt scathing letter to whatever organization he had settled on.

She allowed herself to smirk. Her seven year old was capable of great things, no one could doubt that.

Jonathon noticed her in the doorway and looked up to smile. His irises were completely black.

This happened occasionally. There was no set pattern do it, except that it seemed to happen whenever Jocelyn forgot why her son was so brilliant, so capable of great things. It was because he was a demon.

She kept the smile on her face as she turned away, but inside she felt that old, icicle like fear stab at her heart. As she searched through her wardrobe for an outfit, she let her mind wander to Valentine. She wondered what those years held for Jonathon, wondered how the man who hated Downworlders would have proceeded with raising his demon blood son. She was sending him to a school in the city, where he would hopefully thrive and have a somewhat normal life. Hell, maybe he'd make friends. Be a happy, regular, mundane kid. Valentine maybe could have given him illegal Shawdowhunting, but he never could have given him companions. It would have been impossible, growing up isolated in the country...

...

The boy wanted a name.

His father had named him Jonathon, but that was Morgenstern's son's name, and the name he had to give the other boy so as to keep up appearances. Three Jonathon's was two too many. Of course, they were gone now, off living other lives, so he supposed he could be Jonathon again. But it didn't feel right.

He didn't want to be called after his father either, because that was his father's name. But that was the name Morgenstern gave him. The boy supposed it didn't matter whether he like the name or not- no one would listen to him. Also, the fact that he was most likely to die was another reason his name hardly mattered.

The cell was dark and damp. Morgenstern hadn't come back in days. The boy wondered if he were really dead this time. If so, he should be glad for the two Jonathons, that they got away. In any case, he was screwed.

He sighed as he remembered the last conversation he had with the two other boys.

''You're going away.''

''Really?'' Morgenstern's boy asked. ''Both of us?''

''Yes, but not together.'' The other Jonathon looked uneasy, even more uneasy than he already did whenever they had their secret ( read, forbidden) meetings.

''Where are we going?''

''I can't see that.'' So it was true. Being one of many experiments brought only snippets of the future. He wasn't a full on seer.

''What about you?''

_Yes what about me?_ He thought, snapping back to the present. _I can't live here for ever._

Just then, he heard it. The sound of the door upstairs.

Just as the boy wondered if Morgenstern was back, if he was finally going to die, he saw her.

A girl a little younger than him peered though the bars, ignoring the open door. She smiled mischievously, looking so much like the faeries who raised her, despite not sharing a drop of their blood. ''Stuck, are we?''

He sighed in relief. ''The door up there was locked.''

''You could've broken it.''

''Oh, clearly,'' he replied dryly, not bothering to get into the fact the door opened only from the outside, plus being enchanted.

The girl swung herself around the bars, offering a hand. ''Come on. Let's get you out of here.''

The boy took her hand gratefully. ''I thought you'd forget about me.''

She shook her head. ''I'd never forget about you, Michael. Just as you'd never forget about me. After all,'' her grin spread across her face again. ''We only have each other, yeah?''

The boy sighed. He didn't find that fact as nearly as comforting as she did. 'I know, Celine. I know.''

**Me: I hope you enjoyed! If you have time, please leave a review!**


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